


Cheap Drink and Good Company

by CrazyIndigoChild



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Drunk Sex, Elf!Keith, I guess a zombie?, Just a lot of booze, Livingdead!Shiro, M/M, Rough Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Sheith Secret Santa 2017, Steampunk AU, but he doesn't eat people, urban fantasy au, zombie!Shiro
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-31
Updated: 2018-01-31
Packaged: 2019-03-11 19:25:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13530972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrazyIndigoChild/pseuds/CrazyIndigoChild
Summary: Keith, a common elf, has been working for creature-hunter Shiro for a while now. After a particularly hard job they hit up the bar for a celebratory drink or two... or five... maybe eight? Ah well. Things get a little sidetracked and their celebration a bit out of hand.Secret Santa gift for moonlitwaterwriting on Tumblr.





	Cheap Drink and Good Company

**Author's Note:**

> I am so sorry this has taken so long to get to you! I hope you had a wonderful Christmas!
> 
> I tried to squeeze as much as I could into this prompt; hope you like it :)   
> ((Also funny story, I'm from Ottawa too and we share a couple mutual friends! Small world))

"I'll bet you've never held money like this before."

The edges of his vision spotted red and, though the comment wasn't meant to be cruel, Keith couldn't help but want to take his wad of bills and shove right through those perfect pearly teeth. Being paid wasn't even the offence-- he was being paid more than fair for a job well done-- it was *how much* he was being paid that left a bitter taste in his mouth. "I've never *seen* money like this before."

At least Shiro tried to look sympathetic when he tucked his share into the hidden breast pocket of his coat. That alone should have been enough to piss him off but he had to remind himself not for the first time that it wasn't Shiro's fault he was the only one paying a 'lowly elf' a fair wage. When he was alone Shiro would count it and make it last until their next job if one wasn't already lined up; Keith made a habit of not asking questions. Life was simpler this way: go where Shiro pointed, keep his mouth shut when Shiro spoke, thank Shiro when he was paid. And for his cooperation he'd been getting bigger and bigger portions of the pay. He'd made good for himself.

Though it wasn't Keith's preferred way of celebrating the end of a tough job they had made tradition of paying the local pub a visit and indulging in a little irresponsibility. That usually found Shiro out half his pay and drunk under the bar while Keith spoke with the serving class about the technology in the big city. This time it hadn't taken Shiro long for his frown to smooth out and his words to bleed at the edges. "You're awfully quiet," he pointed out with a prod to Keith's arm, drawing his attention from trying to read the scrawled English on the massive well-pipes curling over the bar. One was definitely the piss ale Shiro was drinking. "If I can give you any advice it's to leave the job on the job. We're not the only ones out there who'll collect on goblin heads, but if we can do it and still get our sleep at night then we'll be two of the few who can make the money there's to be had from it."

"You say that like you sleep through the night yourself, sir."

As soon as he said it he was eating his words, and there was no amount of cheap ale that could chase the hard look Shiro pinned him with over the rim of his brassy cup. "You say that like you know what keeps me up at night. In the three years I've been working I haven't lost sleep to a job. Especially not a handful of goblin heads."

"Coming up on four now," Keith sighed, taking his warm drink and nursing it with a grimace. Humans had horrid taste.

"Yep."

So there it was, as with any other time Shiro's past came up, they were going to ignore the awkwardness that came with a shared secret that no one wanted to admit they knew. The best part? It wasn't even a secret! Keith had seen the death certificate Shiro had stolen from the towne archives made to one Takashi Shirogane. He had only two questions: was it really Shiro's, and how had he 'died'?

All he knew now was that Shiro's first name was Takashi and that whatever had happened earned him the fading slash across the bridge of his nose. But in the nights they shared a room or a wall he could hear it haunting him in the dead of night. Keith wasn't so sure he wanted to know anymore. All he needed to know was to leave Shiro to numbing his sorrows at the tavern and to pretend the screams didn't wake him up at night. "You're the first elf a lot of these humans have seen outside of the forest or the serving class; you're already at a disadvantage and you can't give anyone another reason to dismiss you."

"Wouldn't working for you put me in a serving class?"

"No," Shiro knocked back the rest of his pint and motioned to the bartender for another, "you make too much and you wear common clothes." That prompted a closer inspection of his dress: black slacks and vest, an old white collared shirt, and worn brown duster. Actually the only thing uncommon would have to be the red scarf he wore around his head, but even then that wasn't too uncommon for the dry heat. Nothing offensive about it. It definitely wasn't like the simpler clothes he'd seen the city elves wear, but they weren't by any means nicer. Huh.

Beside him Shiro heaved a great sigh and swirled the ale in his cup. The man looked just shy of sloshed with his glassy eyes that looked wet in the dim electric lights. It must have been an especially hard day for him to have already been so far gone. For all his tough talk and hard looks he was still just a small town baker's son with a gun and The Sight. A little too much responsibility and too little innocence for someone his age.

Shiro says something slurred in response to the booming laughter of a group of miners at the end of the bar but it's nothing directed at Keith so he busies himself in watching the band. But the hand on his arm definitely got his attention, a finger teasing at the cuff of his sleeve...

In a place like this unless you were spending big money you weren't more than a couple bucks and some peanut shells on the floor. No one to pay attention to and certainly no one to remember. So when Shiro's thumb peeled back the edge of his leather glove no one took note of how they were sitting just a bit too close, touch lingering for too long. "Why do you always wear that scarf?" he rumbled , graduating from his arm to toying with the breast of Keith's jacket.

"You know why, sir."

"Remind me?"

With a small sigh Keith reached up to hook the scarf under his jaw, flashing a small Elven symbol just under the hinge. Set steel eyes darkened and if Shiro hadn't seen the same symbol a dozen times he might have mistaken that look for something wholly different.

Though they weren't doing anything scandalous they were attracting the attention of a few women from a nearby table, chatting to each other behind their hands and tossing curious glances their way. It didn't matter; Keith wasn't worried about what humans thought of him and Shiro was currently too drunk to care. Anyway the chances were good that work would see them travelling to one of the nearby big cities-- hopefully somewhere with better drink-- so their reputation here wouldn't mean much. "Does it go all the way down?"

Shiro's fingers were tugging at the edge of his scarf. Just this side of unseemly. They may not have had an inspiring reputation but being thrown out for indecency just wasn't fun. So taking Shiro's cup from his hand Keith knocked back the rest of his drink and slammed it upside down on the wooden bar. "Come find out for yourself."

The tavern is just busy enough that they had to weave through pulled-up chairs and standing patrons to get to the back of the hall-- most of these places had running loos, but he was pretty sure this place was too seedy for even the most basic of luxuries aside from spirits. So he slipped into the closest dark storage room and waited for the thick scarf around his neck to be replaced with dry calloused fingers, tracing the lines of red trailing down. Intricate lines etched into his skin; some from birth and others from design.

His back still to Shiro he was nudged even father into the room, stumbling and worming behind a stack of crates with clipped breaths and muffled grunts. "Show me..." by the time Keith had turned over to face Shiro in the gloom the buttons of his shirt had already been popped open and peeled back, presenting the intricate map sprawling over his chest and belly. It was dim but for the soft glow from his markings reflected in Shiro's eyes and where he'd licked his lips looking over Keith's skin. Red grew brighter between them as Shiro's hands worked off his clothing in glimpses and pieces; earthy human hands explored him in only the best way, calloused and rough from the wear of the hunt but Shiro handled him with the same care he did injured nymphs and scared pixies. Not the hunter but caretaker.

At least until Shiro turned on to the fasteners of Keith's pants to follow a swirling vine over his hip, effectively jostling him from his reverie when the seams groaned. "You're going to rip them--"

Shiro's brilliant answer to that was to grapple his waist and whirl him around to bend over a crate. "Then I'll buy you a new pair." Gods, he could hear that smug human's smile. They were so full of themselves it was no wonder they were always at war.

"And walk out of here with my trousers in ribbons," he grumbled back, though he was hardly in a sour mood. Definitely not in a mood to complain. The band of his pants hit the ground, bearing him raw for Shiro to follow the lines of Keith's tattoo under a fingertip and leaving in its wake terrible gooseflesh.

One hand became two, and pathfinding hands became a hard smack to his rear that had him swallowing down the punched-out grunt. From where he was bent over he had a fair view of the traffic streaming by the door; their hideout less than private but if they didn't make too much noise then the glow of Keith's skin shouldn't be noticed. Shouldn't.

Shiro folded over him and the stench of cheap ale on his breath soiled the air-- not that he was using it once his companion began nibbling at the stunted point of his ear; "You're so beautiful," came the heady whisper. Hot and pleasantly drunken.

Oh what a charmer. "I haven't changed since the last time you saw me," he breathed with a quiet laugh and the minute roll of his hips, arching where Shiro's lips trailed down his spine, lower and lower until...

Shiro took the mangled sound he'd buried into his hands as his invitation to spread him apart and-- "Here?" Keith yelped , hands scrabbling against the crate to keep himself upright as his hips were tugged, rocking back onto a slick tongue. Even drunk Shiro was steady and true as ever as he worked Keith open.

Too soon, much too soon, Shiro's hands framed him against the crates and something much less forgiving than his tongue prodded at him. God it was so much-- he tilted back against Shiro's shoulder, eyes screwed shut against a soundless cry. One that was stuffed full with Shiro's fingers when Keith's nails dug into the skin of his hips and quiet panting threatened to break into whimpers and keening grunts as Shiro began to pry him open; "Take it," he growled against the nape of his neck.

Well there wasn't much else for him to do, so he accepted the press back in, hot and fast and full and perfect in the way it left him shuddering for more. Happily he took everything, all while working his tongue between Shiro's fingers and thanked someone somewhere that they were enough to cut the sounds of his gasps and airy moans as pleasure-pain left his knees quaking and threatened to take him down to the floor.

"Ya hear that, Ellis?"

Apparently not enough.

Shit! He hadn't been watching the door! Through the slats in the crates and stacks of chairs he could see one of the bar patrons stepping into the darkened room and fail to side-step another stack of chairs to get around a bulky table. Keith's breath caught in his throat as he searched for the second voice until Shiro dragged him down to the floor, sealing over his mouth with his damp hand to muffled him. "Yer not supposed'ta be in here."

The second voice barely made it over the roaring in his ears and the squeeze of Shiro's hold on his mouth. "Shit," he hissed, curling over him and pressing him into the ground. "Your skin..."

Right, anyone looking in the right place would be able to spot the dull glow in the pitch dark. At least Shiro was sounding more sober.

"Aw c'mon, Yannick, there's no one there. How much have ya had to drink, eh?"

They waited on the ground for a good while until the danger of being discovered had passed, everyone had wandered back to the bar or were minding their own business. "That was too close," Shiro hissed, pushing up to fix the buttons Keith hadn't realized he'd opened, "we should go before they tell someone."

"Or we can be extra quiet," Keith tried, rolling over to hook his leg around Shiro's waist, tugging him closer so that he might rub them together while Shiro was still out of his pants. "I'll let you come inside..."

He'd pondered it but not for too long; Keith had learned some of Shiro's preferences during their 'partnership'. To up the ante he folded his knees to his chest, tugging at the fabric of Shiro's trousers with his toes.

A wary look back at the door and Shiro nodded and was scooting in between his legs to roughly fill him back up. It had taken all of two seconds for Keith to break his promise and was again moaning low at the promising stretch. Using his feet as leverage he hooked around Shiro's hip and canted his hips to take in more with a loud, relieved sigh.

Instead of shoving his fingers back into his mouth to keep him quiet Shiro had pressed his hand to Keith's throat as he began undoing him. His grin was wolfish and Keith knew he was done when Shiro kissed him-- which wasn't as often as he'd liked. Drinking Shiro was like drinking straight from the bottle but for the ever-present nuance of decay. Death. It wasn't a good taste... But Shiro was good. He was so good, and this time the ale was so strong it was overpowering and made his head swim. Though that could have also been from the edging orgasm.

Swallowing against Shiro's hand was red hot and he loved that something as forbidden and despairing as a human could bring him to this. If only his elders could see him now. "F-faster!"

But Shiro went as fast as Shiro pleased; either way Keith would be ravaged and used and given what he wanted. Panting and grunting Shiro's body consumed him, slamming him into the crates at his back with the muted slap of skin on skin as he spilled into him. Hot and hard and undignified but no less perfect. "Do you want to come?"

"Yes sir," Keith whimpered, still swallowing against Shiro's hand. Still pressing into him, though much slower and relaxed, Shiro reached between them to grab his cock and jerk him hard and fast until Keith burst in his hand with a choked-off squeak. No sooner had he come Shiro was pulling out to fold over him and lick at the mess up his front, tracing the patterns with his tongue while Keith tried to collect his bleached-out thoughts.

Once he was finished cleaning him off Shiro set to sorting Keith's trousers right-side-out and fumbling for his shirt and coat. "After that I suppose you'll need another drink," Keith mused, starting the laborious task of pulling on his pants and the pleasure of tucking Shiro away.

He let himself be pulled to his feet and they collaborated on the buttons of his shirt; "Only if you'll have one with me."


End file.
